Having Henry

"OLIVER!" I called as I watched my husband jog away from our car in the early morning light. He was wracked with anxiety about catching the last bus that would drop them off at the ship 40 minutes north before leaving for deployment. Some people say they never really knew the exact moment their marriage was over. Some say that it was caused by little moments of connection lost over time, while others can pinpoint the exact action that made someone leave you. For me, I knew. For me, this was that moment. After fighting the entire car trip from home to drop him off, he couldn't wait to get as far away from me as possible. He turned to face me slightly. His face filled with embarrassment and rage as I lifted my hands towards him in a "what the heck" motion. It was as if a demon had possessed him as he growled back at me, "I have to get to the bus." He angrily turned back around, ignoring my desperate plea for a hug and a kiss. He was practically running now towards the bus, still idling about 500 feet away. My chest tightened, and my stomach dropped, clenching in utter sadness and abandonment. My body stood frozen in sheer panic as he was leaving us for his third deployment in less than a year. After a moment, frozen like a statue, I realized he wasn't turning back for us to correct his mistake. I turned away in what seemed like slow motion as I closed my slightly agape mouth and as tears started to blur my vision. I barely remember moving my body towards the car as I looked out over the ocean where the other ships bobbed slightly on either side of us. I hesitated slightly as I grabbed the handle. I could hear the waves slap against the slabs of concrete right at the edge of the parking lot. I had sloppily parked due to his eagerness to flee from me. I slumped back into the seat, catching the eyes of our son, Henry, in the mirror from where he sat in his car seat. He looked at me, quizatively, as if waiting for an explanation. Although he was only 10 months old, he was already beginning to register the fighting between his parents and recognized the sadness etched across my face. It was a face that he knew all too well. I looked back at him in the rear view mirror and told him, "It's ok, poopy." He seemed to believe me and looked down at his rattle and sippy cup. I looked out my window to watch my husband, now waiting in the quickly shrinking bus line. I waited until he was on the bus before putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the parking lot. I couldn't look back as we drove out of sight. I couldn't do anything but follow the lights back home, feeling nothing but the utter shock beginning to shut down all the other facets of my brain. I was about five minutes away when the realization hit me. I knew this feeling well. The shock was equivalent to the childhood memory of missing the rung on the monkey bars and the wind being knocked out of you as you fell straight onto your back. Stopping at the red light, I sat, waiting for the air to return to my lungs. Nobody was coming to save me.